The Fox and the Wyvern
by G33k-2D
Summary: This story explores a slight AU world with Sebastian and a male love interest omc/Champion of Tantervale that had been in his life since his young and wild days. See the first chapter for far too many author's notes about the whole thing and feel free to ask me questions if you want specifics before they get published.
1. A Very Tantervale Funalis

**Author's description note: So, I've been wanting to write a story about Sebastian, but I haven't really known where to start. For some inexplicable reason, M!Hawke/Sebastian fic searches turn up a swarm of F!Hawke, and I don't really want to try to be found in all that. Another reason I chose against it is that I'm already in the planning stages for a Hawke story stemming from "The Secret Path." I also don't really like the idea of writing abunch of alternate playthroughs to DAII. **

**Another option I was considering was Sebastian/M!Warden, but the only one I could see working was Cousland and I think my obsession with Aedan is already far too deep set.**

**So, who's this story going to involve? **

**As I've said, this is going to be a story about Sebastian. His relationship is going to be with a male original character who will, through the course of the story, become the champion of Tantervale and be revealed to be other things. I don't want to give up too much of the story but since I'm keeping Sebastian pretty much to cannon for the time he's in Kirkwall, you can probably imagine the type of tension that creates.**

**TLDR: Prince!Brother in Faith! Sebastian/Male! Original Character [ Champion of Tantervale].**

**Author's note for the revised edition: So, against my best (publishing popularity) judgement, I've decided to take this fic. A lot slower than I originally intended. I will still make it as Sebastian-centric as possible, but I am going to spend a lot more time tying together the details of places that aren't completely cannon as well as all the ways that (either plausibly or according to cannon) that a lot of the other characters we know and love fit into the story. This will also give me a chance to stage the reasons for the second main character becomes champion, and also give a little more depth to his dynamic with Sebastian. I haven't yet decided whether to put this fic in the same universe as "The Secret Path" and the story that I'm working on with the Hawke from that universe. So far, I'm leaning towards no just because I'm afraid it would be terribly kitsch. (I mean, really, all the most powerful people in Thedas inter-dating and likely becomming mage-sympathisers the lot of them, and all of them working together in some sickeningly sweet way? It'd be cute, sure, but I like a little realism with my fluff.) Anyhow, this is the new, revised edition of "The Guardian and the Prince" renamed for the occasion- "The Fox and the Wyvern." It has also been made way more badass for the occasion. Okay, so you have to wait a little longer for super Sebastian-centric stuff and it might end up pushing the constant lemons of Sebastian's youth a little further apart, but you'll also have a better chance of actually getting to know the characters and the plot like I do.**

**Note on cannon breaking: people who religiously research Dragon Age or read every codex entry might know that, technically, the title of champion has not been given until Hawke since the blessed age. Now, I usually try to stick within cannon but, really, I think we can all ignore a single codex entry and not think it's way too AU (especially given that cannon Sebastian could probably never be convinced 'back to sin' so thoroughly by the time 9:30 dragon and later come around).**

**Note of thanks: I would like to dedicate this entire fic to Hikari 86, my most dedicated reviewer and a constant reminder to update—though I'm not sure they will even choose to read this fic. Similarly, thank you all for reading and for your patience as I stumble around with this new idea: _je vous remercie infinitivement._**

**Note to those who read the original: So far, I've changed the second scene of this part and tacked on a little more at the end that seemed to fit in more properly with this chapter than the next. Thankfully, I hadn't published ahead yet and I was able to keep significant changes to a minimum.**

**-**((Line Break))-

_9:24 Dragon; 20th of Solace. Starkhaven; the docks on the Minanter River._

"What business could you possibly have in Tantervale?" the ship-master had no idea that the fair skinned youth he was addressing was royalty, or that he was older than he looked, or that he could probably fight better than half the men already on board the ship.

Sebastian smiled his pearly white smile—too pearly for the working class. His brilliant sapphire eyes sparkled charismatically in the sunlight. "Funalis in Tantervale is considerably more entertaining; no disrespect to the beautiful principality of Starkhaven."

The ship master eyed the young Vael, unconvinced. Then, Sebastian manifested a full handful of silver and let it drop on a barrel between himself and the ship's master. A cautious smile confirmed the transaction and Sebastian climbed aboard.

-((Line Break))-

Tantervale. Most knew it only as a usual host of the grand tourney, as the city it pretended to be, as a place of great equality, and as the freest of the grand city-states of the free marches—the only one not letting itself be run by the chantry or the Templars.

The truth was, however, that Tantervale was a place divided in its equality. The truth was that the mask of pleasant holidays and supreme hospitality served only as a bandaid, hiding the festering sores of injustice rotting away the city's limbs.

Like many parts of the old Tevinter Imperium, Tantervale was built over the legacy and dark memory of the old. Also like many places throughout the old Imperium, the ruins it stood on provided Tantervale with built-in stratification.

It was a large and sprawling city, consisting of 6 distinct districts. Despite the facade of unity put in place by annums and the choices of their highborn to travel down the city for their debauchery, anyone familiar enough to get an honest view of each district would be imbued with the eerie sense that each was a seperate province, united mainly in their obeisance to the Lord Chancellor Mikaël Da'Kar, a man known both for his extreme beneficence, and for his extreme cruelty.

On the top of the city, in the position of greatest power, sat the sanctum. It was an exclusive level, stretching tall into the silver shining sky of Tantervale on its southernmost side, washed over constantly by the golden Northern sun. Even outdoors, the sanctum was completely artificial—sculpted into a testament of human innovation by the Tevinters themselves. The sun flooded, through open archways that stood as tall as a pile of golems, and through the open ceiling of the grand atrium, to wash along the shimmering marble floors and columns, and bring a sparkling shine to even the onyx fountains and fixtures highlighting the district.

An elaborate system of aqueducts gathered the rainwater from the city-state and purified it, sending it throughout the district and into each house several times for both use and vanity before allowing what wasn't reserved to trickle down to the lower districts.

The sanctum was the place of the Lord Chancellor, his legitimate family and his closest advisers. Were it not for his attempts to keep up the appearance of equality, it is unclear whether the Lord Chancellor would ever allow the lesser born, or even the hisghest born strangers, into the utmost peak of the city. But, as it stood, there were a select few even as far out as the 6th district who spoke to him directly, presumably on behalf of their class.

The second district, though in no way less than opulent, was already something less than the sanctum. Fountains poured into each house, though they typically did so only once. The second district was host to nobles and the most famous of merchants. It was the place of the great academy—of logic and rhetoric, of science, and of all the disciplines that take an exorbitant amount of leisure to master.

In the second district, everyone was home or at the home of some other resident by sundown, being weighted on lavishly by servants that had been _freed_ from Tevinter to serve as attendants in waiting and in dinner. Still, it must be admitted that most servants to these nobles, of the sanctum, and even those some degrees lower, lived better than most free-born marchers.

Like the sanctum, the second district was devoid of dirt, though cobble stone foot paths had been allowed to invade the glorious marble and onyx as parts of the district fell to age or were cannibalized for repairs to the sanctum.

The place was no where near as private as the sanctum, but anyone allowed entrance would be forced to note the fulsome degree of empty space it contained—free of crowds and strictly low on rabble as it was.

No one was ever seen to be anything but proper in the second district. Those few that were not dutifully inside at a salon or symposium for their gluttonous acts trickled their way, further than even the aqueducts, to the lower districts.

The third district was the first to routinely open its doors to more than the elect, and it did so most often on annums and to those who could earn or buy a pass. Much of the district was directly under and in the shadow of the upper two, and it was in this district that one found the first hints of nature—grass had been allowed to grow through the cobblestone at parts.

On a routine basis, this district was home to the small chantry, to the more useful types of popular merchants, and to the most loved craftsmen and guilds-men—most of which specialized in vanity.

While the nobles sat down to their attended dinners, the people of the third district began to pack up their shops, gather water from the common fountains, and slowly collect their families—less of course those who travelled further down for their entertainment. It was also in the third district that the first hints of debauchery could be found, in the form of a, seemingly, rarely used brothel.

The aqueducts reached only one district further, offering common baths and a common fountain, and a few common privies, to the rich not noble or famous enough to secure their places on the upper levels.

This was the district of the most deep-set lies. The people lied about resenting the higher born for being greater and better off than them, they lied, also, about resenting the lower born for being allowed to walk among them—though few ever did—and they lied about the crime that terrorized their streets at night, turning a blind eye to anything less than perfect.

If one ventured furhter out, to the fifth district, the aqueducts end and the grass has fully invaded the ruins. The walls that once stood tall separated it then from the next district by only a few feet of elevation. There was no sewage, and the people fallowed the _barbaric_ (according to the high born) chamber-pot practice most of Thedas was restricted to.

Worse than this, however, was the outer district itself. It was the home of sailors and pirate, rabble and thieves, bastards, vagabonds, and any common adventurer that chose to set foot. While the people up top got sick from surfeit, those in the muddy underbelly of the city and its docks were liable to die of starvation at all but the best of times. Where other districts had space, the sixth district had people scurrying like rats nearly over top one another, constantly rushing to and from their seemingly never ending work.

It was the sixth in the sixth district that one could find people sleeping in the streets and fighting one another over food. It was to the shore-side sixth district that refugees from Tevinter and the unfortunate of Thedas swarmed in troves. It was the sixth district that smelled of river fish, and piss, and vomit. It was the sixth district that bustled like its own living entity.

And yet, in the midst of all the poverty the lower district had to offer was the only sense of family and charity Tantervale had to offer. As a testament to this charity and family, the only sign of great wealth in the lower district—the place to which even the bored noble sons of the second district trickled—the Drunken sailor, the tavern restored and made a hundred times more grandiose as _a gift to the people_ from the Lord Chancellor in 9:10 Dragon.

-((Line Break))-

_9:24 Dragon, the 30th of Solace, The Drunken Sailor—the most popular tavern in Tantervale, owner's balcony overlooking the Minanter River._

The owner's handmaid was polishing the balcony's railing for the big event when she heard the distinct ding of boots against the ladder leading up from the river in low tide. She froze for a moment and put down the cleaning supplies; she ran over to the side of the balcony the ladder landed on and hung over the railing to get a better look. She sprang up almost instantly in excitement and ran back inside the tavern to get her misstress's attention.

"Messere, he's here! He's home early!"

The accent of the average Tantervale citizen was something altogether peculiar. Whereas the people of the other classes had absorbed the common Marcher accent over the generations, the people of the lower classes had retained the trade-route accent that developed as a slewed version of common that lingered somewhere between Nevarran and Tevinter.

The barmaid, who was also the owner, jumped up from behind the bar, very narrowly avoiding hitting her head and knocking down dozens of bottles.

"He's home early?!" the woman practically shrieked, leaving her increasingly busy bar and rushing to the balcony. She helped the man onto the balcony, barely restraining herself from jumping for joy. "Nikolai what are you doing here? You aren't supposed to be back from Hasmal for another week!"

The young man, hardly more than a boy, shook out his ratty, shoulder length white-blonde hair and smirked towards the woman, looking her over cheekily with shimmering sea-green eyes "and miss Funalis? Tante [_Aunt_] Gabriela, you know be better than that. I bet you were just wishing I wouldn't come home so you wouldn't have any real competition for the men this year."

The boy's aunt, likely in her mid twenties, was not the least surprised to hear him speak this way. She simply smiled and threw him a look that said _you're dreaming_. "So, why didn't you come in through the main entrance? Have you not seen your father on the way in?"

The boy sighed lightly and began to clean up on the balcony, smoothing his salt ruined hair into a ponytail and beating the dust out of his clothes. "Of course I haven't seen my father. Last time I went up there me brothers threatened to stab me on sight the next time they saw me." He shined up his double sided daggers and their charge holding gems before returning them to their twisted X on his lower back. "Hey, don't give me that look. If his highness wants to see me, his highness will find me—can we just have a good few days as a family before I'm off again, please? I brought gold" he teased, knowing she could care less about his gold.

He was ushered inside and lost himself in the crowd, staying widely unnoticed as the night's patrons began to swarm in.

-((Line Break))-

Night had fallen and Nikolai was leaning against the inside of the bar under the pretence of cleaning a glass so he could talk to his aunt about the night's prospects, unnoticed. He was, in fact, noticed, but not because they recognized him as her nephew. Among many other things, the young man had already made quite a name for himself as an adventurer.

One man, hardly older than Nikolai himself, obviously did not recognize him at all. The stranger called out after him in a crisp North Marcher accent: "Hey! Boy! Another bottle will you? I've been dry nearly a quarter hour."

The owner began to protest, but Nikolai stopped her subtly. His eyes scanned in slight wonder, investigating the foreigner's body. He was muscled, but lean, likely an archer despite his apparent disguise as either a small-blades-man or a tradesman. His shimmering tanned skin denoted a life of work of adventure, but it was markedly too smooth to be either—bored noble son, probably. The man's brown hair was slicked back with a matte oil, and yet his hair retained its wave. More interestingly, the most dazzling sapphire eyes looked over his liquor cup. Nikolai smiled, his prospects for the night had just gotten significantly better.

The highborn bastard approached the unwanted Vael, neither recognizing nor having ever heard of, the other. Nikolai started subtly, eyeing Sebastian as he poured the demanded liquor, allowing a single strand of ash hair fall sweetly in his face. "So, Boy," Sebastian started, boldly and stubbornly. "Is there a reason you work here? It seems rather stable. I remember when I was your age I was always running around, trying to find a new way to be prince."

Nikolai, for his part, retained his mystery, and a false bashful smile crossed his lips "and now?"

"Well, now I just run around to find fun, mostly."

"Is that so?" Nikolai asked, putting down the bottle of liquor and slowly moving towards Sebastian. He leaned back on the table near the oth3er man, suggestively comfortable "are you here looking for fun now?"

Sebastian laughed "aren't you a bit young?"

Nikolai licked his lip. It was almost as though he were able to make his own eyes sparkle on command to be more persuasive. "I cant imagine you were much younger when you started..._travelling."_

"Somehow," Sebastian began, shifting to face Nikolai—the younger man was now nearly between his leg. "I'm getting the impression this isn't your first _voyage_" usually, Sebastian wasn't altogether interested in men, but the young Nikolai, with the faint touch of oncoming muscle tone already beginning to define him, had piqued his curiosity.

"Come have a drink with me," Nikolai chimed "perhaps you'll find out."

-((Line Break))-

Nikolai closed the heavy curtains that blocked the balcony off from the rest of the tavern. He spun on a dime and dropped the daggers off his back like an elaborate dance step. Sebastian made a sound somewhere between laughter and surprise as he was persuaded backwards to lean against the railing. Nikolai's hands dextrously reached around. _Must be a rogue_ Sebastian thought, even more so as Nikolai's hands found each of his concealed weapons and let then drop onto the floor.

"Somehow I can't imagine it's the first time you've done that, either" the young Sebastian mused.

"So, you've already decided that I've _travelled_ before?" Nikolai steadily closed the space between the two until their noses were an inch apart and dazzling baby blues were locked into nearly Tevinter green eyes.

Sebastian, despite the experience he's already had in debauchery at this point, swallowed hard and breathed a little more deeply. "I guess you still need to prove that part."

Nikolai smiled smugly and trailed his fingers gently along Sebastian's body. He began with the Vael's arms, smoothly unlacing his clothing as he moved along. When Nikolai reached Sebastian's hands he pulled them to his lips gently and kissed them softly before trailing his fingers down the other man's chest and sides, undoing those laces next. Nikolai's eyes broke from Sebastian's only momentarily to glance down at Sebastian's beautifully sculpted chest. When he looke dup again he huffed in a soft and passionate way before he reached a hand up to the back of the other's neck and inched in slowly for a kiss. Sebastian's hands ran up Nikolai's back, literally ripping his shirt off before pulling him in and kissing him passionately. Nikolai's fingers unlaced the other's pants and the two seemed to dissolve for some time into a sequence of hands and bare skin, touching and human warmth, the smooth skin of unweathered debauchery against the already callousing skin of the young adventurer.

Nikolai was pushed slowly downward. And he complied, at first—smug smile drawing across his lips all the while. He went down on his knees, listening to Sebastian's big talk of royalty and merit, brothers and jealousy, and generally his own magnanimity in any way he could. He laughed internally to himself. _He will change, you both will. But what a fun game to play._ Most would not understand how Nikolai could be so assured, or how he always knew certain things, or how such a young man had become an adventurer, but Sebastian was soon to be let in on the secret, whether or not he would understand it. In the meantime, Nikolai followed directions, he let the Vael—who had made it plain through his speech that he was a Vael—control him. He let the other push him down harder or faster, talk as much as he wanted, and grind himself into Nikolai's mouth. Despite Nikolai's initial obeisance, once it was cleat that Sebastian was near the brink, Nikolai pulled himself up. When Sebastian tried to resist, Nikolai pegged his wrists into the balcony railing, flashing a devious smile. Nikolai pushed himself up and kissed the other man seductively, massaging his tongue and keeping him in utter surprise. When the kiss broke, Sebastian attempted to regain control but was pushed back into another kiss instead. It was a different kind of kiss; it was a compassionate kiss; it was an understanding kiss; it was sweet and warm, and it contained emotion Sebastian had never felt in a partner. He stopped, struck.

Nikolai's softly rolling Tantervale accent whispered softly into Sebastian's ear "it's going to be okay," he began, pulling away just far enough for Sebastian to see his eyes light up a lyrium blue "you _are_ going to be prince someday, Messere Vael, but you aren't yet. Besides, tonight we aren't in Starkhaven, and for tonight you're just a man."

Sebastian was caught by surprise. His upbringing had never made him comfortable with mages, and he had not fathomed that the rogue could also be a mage. Moreover, he was not used to being considered _just a man_ by anyone. "How did you-" he questioned, despite knowing magic had to be involved.

Nikolai let go of Sebastian's wrists and dropped his own pants. He broke the last of the space between them and rubbed their manhoods against each other more and more intensely, encouraged by a soft moan that escaped Sebastian's lips. Nikolai bit softly up and down Sebastian's neck whispering "stop worrying so much, Messere Vael, just let yourself enjoy this."

"It's Sebastian" Messere Vael groaned out, rolling his hips and working into the friction Nikolai was already creating "and this is definitely not you're first time" he laughed darkly. Nikolai joined in the laughter, intentions hidden behind his pearly whites. He took Sebastian by surprise again, turning him around to face the river and the dark deep night sky. Nikolai positioned his legs against Sebastian's, teasing him with proximity. He trailed his fingers along Sebastian's spine, his waist, his shoulder—all along his body, sending magical waves of tingling electricity, heat, soft vibrations and feeling of nervousness and pure emotion. Nikolai's hands worked their way down to Sebastian's behind. They slowly got to working Sebastian open, fingers moving in and out of him, magic spiralling through his body.

_**And so commenced the first night Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven was ever taken.**_

**[ I know this is bad form, but the top had far too many notes: A/N: Just in case you didn't know, annums such as Funalis don't actually fall in any month. So, although this scene begins on the 1st of August, it is actually taking place two days later (a little under 1 and a half, really).]**

_9:30 Dragon-1st of August. The Drunken Sailor._

Nikolai woke at dawn, and began carefully crawling out from underneath Sebastian. The previous morning, Sebastian had managed to wake up first and he'd been gone before Nikolai woke up. Neither man was entirely certain whether them ending up together that night anyway had been an accident. Once Nikolai had made his way our from under Sebastian without waking him, he got dressed and made his way toward the balcony, certain no one was awake.

Nikolai was wrong, in fact. His aunt, who'd just barely finished putting the tavern back in order from the Funalis celebrations an hour earlier, was sitting on the balcony with her morning tea when he got there. "Where are you going this early? Wait, weren't you with that boy again last night?"

Nikolai nodded awkwardly and leaned against the railing of the balcony, steadying himself for a lecture. When she waited in earnest for a more elaborate answer he began, generally displeased that the conversation ever came up. "Yes Tante Gabriela I was. And he was gone when i woke up yesterday and I'm fairly certain he's heading back to Starkhaven tonight. And?"

The woman looked out to the water blankly, ringing her hands "I'd hate to think what you're mother would say."

"And you'd have me believe when she bore me illegitimately at sixteen she was just then beginning? Please, let's not bring my mother into this. She was a good woman, but really no example for you to try to shove chantry virtues down my throat with."

His aunt's face fell slightly, but the boy was right—disrespectful as he often seemed. She forced a smile and turned her blue eyes on him. "So," she started, in a tone usually reserved for adventure and wonder "where are you going now? Does your father know."

"Val Royeaux," he stated simply, too simply.

"Why would you go to Val Royeaux?" she questioned, knowing full well that it was highly unlikely for any young boy, let alone Nikolai, to choose to go to a city known for the chant of light.

He sighed lightly, conceding mildly "well, I probably wouldn't, but I can't tell you where I'm really going."

She stood to her feet quickly, a confused and concerned expression on her face "why not, Nikolai where are you going?"

"You could be arrested if I told you," he protested.

She would have none of it, the expression on her face became more concerned and more angry in a way only mothers and acting mothers could do. She paced towards him and grabbed him by the arm, stopping him from moving towards the ladder. She wanted an answer.

He clenched his jaw and averted his eyes, sighing into the motion. "Minanthrous," he finally offered.

"Why?" she asked again, her voice growing more worried and less patient.

"Research, Tante Gabrielle. Look, I'll be back in a few months, just try not to worry and **don't** tell my father. If anyone would tell the Templars they had to worry about my trip it would be him." He pulled away from her before she could make any further protests. Within moments, he'd disappeared over the side of the balcony and he was off on the River for the first part of his journey.


	2. Wherein I finally say it

**A/N: Sorry for the super short chapter guys but I'm starting work on the next one right away, so you should get something soon. **

**A/N: the last line of this chapter is actually from future chapters of The Shadow of Tevinter, so don't be all upset when it shows up there.**

_The world seems, from all angles, to be hopeless. The question that remains, of course, is whether we're actually the playthings of destiny and the Maker, or whether Thedas can still change.-_Anonymous

-((Line Break))-

_9:24 Dragon: 3rd of August. The basement of a shack in Hasmal, jokingly called the mage underground._

"You sodding ingrate!" the older man spat. "After everything I've done for you, every time I've fed you or offered you a bed and you won't even take me with you?"

Accustomed as he was to playing the adult, Nikolai was hardly phased by either the crude negotiation or its implied threats. "Listen, Geoffrey, it isn't as simple as all that."

"Isn't it? Because all I see is a coward," the Hasmalan seethed.

"No! Listen, if I was just going up on my own I'd take you in a second, but it isn't my trip. If I'm going to pull this off the chances of my even playing a free man are practically nil, I'm not going to help you escape the Templars just to have you end up a Tevinter slave."

"Can mages even become slaves in Tevinter?" Geoffrey pressed.

"Somehow, I'm sure Tevinter isn't the romantic place you have it built up to be in your head," Nikolai replied dismally before reaching across the table for an opiate made of pretty flowers and leaning back to smoke. _Perhaps_, he thought, _the world's problems can stop crushing me for one night._

Unlike many, Nikolai rarely became intoxicated out of a sheer appetite for the Dionysian. He actually believes that, given a decent amount of common sense, one could reach a level of moderation at which all those pleasures could make life better, make the pursuit of truth easier, and increase one's chances of being able to overcome it. Whether this was simply a product of youth had yet to be seen, but Nikolai had managed to strike a balance very few of even the most practised could claim.

It wasn't that Nikolai didn't believe in virtue. In fact, it could be argued that Nikolai believed more fully in virtue than the grand cleric herself. What Nikolai believed was virtuous, however, did not coincide with or even consider the teachings of the chantry. He had seen first hand the evil wrought in the name of the chantry, and he wanted none of it. If he'd been born free only to need to subjugate himself to a god, he's at least choose one significantly more appealing than a god vengeful enough to throw evil back to the world of man and force humans to face blight for the rest of eternity rather than face the darkness himself.

"So, what's the plan, then?" Geoffrey eventually broke the silence. "Go out to Nevarra, meet with an old friend, ride some horses to Tevinter and pretend to be his luscious slave?"

Nikolai burst into inconsolable laughter, nearly falling clear out of his chair.

"What?!" Geoffrey nagged frantically "wha'd'I say?"

Nikolai attempted to reign in his laughter, but he couldn't help himself even as he explained: "only chumps ride horses in Tevinter."


	3. The Mentor and The Madness

**A/N: In a lot of ways, this is kind of like Nikolai's companion quest. Although I'm writing for all of you, I'm also just piecing it together as I go along and hoping it comes out half as awesome as it all feels in my head. This is one of the few instances where I haven't really planned what I'm doing in advance. If nothing else, this short series of Nikolai chapters should be an adventure.**

She'd appeared to be a mirage of purple, hiding in the blinding rush of the Silent plains. He looked weary, even more than he was. It was time. The moment she spotted him he was flat on his knees, she held his arms behind his back, he felt her push him down and he could have sworn for a moment he was going to be eating mouthfuls of sand. The only indication, even to Nikolai himself, that this wasn't as it appeared, was that the mass of purple robes and hoods all meshed seamlessly with Tevinter magister armour whispered into his ear "you're sure you still want to do this, Niko?" He nodded subtly in the subdued position, and felt himself suddenly ripped to his feet.

"I have a new pet," the magister announced, dragging him forcibly back towards her camp. She threw Nikolai towards some more or less high ranking servant. "He travels with me, prepare him," she ordered with a charming Tevinter accent and sincerely non-charming harshness.

The plan had begun, and Nikolai was still convinced it was likely his worst idea ever. As he was disarmed, chained, changed, and perched like a prize on the back of the magister's elephant, he couldn't help but think how easy it would be for her to simply keep him as a slave and forget the rest of the plan. But he was idealistic: though Nikolai spared no faith for the chantry and those who'd asked it for nothing, this woman had, from a distance, kept him safe from Templars, taught him to work undetected, and had shown him nearly all the practical magic he knew. If anyone could show him what he desperately needed to see for himself, she was the only one he could trust to officiate the whole matter.

Once the journey to Tevinter had begun in earnest, at least, he choice in casting him as a prize or toy at least gave them an opportunity to talk. The probabilities of anyone catching on from down near the ground was near nil, and no one but the magister and her pet had been afforded any accommodations. Despite his hatred for slavery as a practice, though, Nikolai knew that these people were likely the best kept slaves in Tevinter, the least forced, and that knowledge gave him at least the comfort required not to rip out his own skin in the guilt of affiliating himself with the magister.

"So," she began, when she was certain she couldn't be compromised. "You're sure you want to see it? Historically that's never ended well."

"I need to know, Sophia. Everyone has a story about what happened and how it happened, but nobody knows for sure, they're all just stories. I just—I can't explain it."

"You feel like you're being pushed in this direction by every action and thought, so you feel like you may as well face it head on and just take the consequences?"

"How do you-"

"For everything else since you started studying with me you've always had the benefit of hindsight before anything even happened. If you can't see what will happen next and you're still choosing it—well, it makes it hard not to believe in some type of destiny."

"Why aren't there more—why-" he sighed, trying to find his words. "Why haven't I ever heard of anyone who could do what I do?"

She smiled, though he couldn't anything but folds of purple silk and black metal from behind her. "The Chantry did everything they could to ensure than the magic of old Tevinter was lost forever, everywhere. If those forced into the Circle and the thousands who've never even heard of old magic can't figure it out—that's hardly telling of anything abnormal. But Niko, you were born for this, no one else would have had even hints before knowing more—don't doubt yourself now that you're so close."

-((Line Break))-

The trip to Tevinter, as well as the time before the arrangements were made, allowed Nikolai more than amble time to contemplate every detail of his choices. He knew it was unwise, he knew the Chantry worked ceaselessly to prevent this very thing, but he didn't care.

_If the Chantry is right, then I don't see this ending as much more than my becoming either an abomination or darkspawn, really. But if they aren't, if the whole of Chantry teaching, of hierarchy, of right and wrong—if it was all a lie, or some perverted version of the truth __**someone**__must know. No one in living memory has seen either the golden or the black city and really come back in one piece to bring any knowledge of it back. Although this should, perhaps, make me hopeful to find that all the stories are untrue, I can't help but be singularly drawn to the knowledge of my pride. How completely egotistic is it for me to even attempt this? Am I fooling myself in saying I do it because I'd risk no one else's life and I truly believe it must be done? Who am I to know what must be done? Who am I to make a decision like this for all of Thedas with no real hint that it'll in any way be what any of Thedas wants? I'm sure many a hero has thought the same things in his youth, but I don't march to the battlefield—I march towards the black city, and though I put all of Thedas at risk by it, I feel I could never turn back, never stop myself, never choose a different path._

Whether he was right or not, he knew that he had to stand firm in the face of it all, or he would fail. Luckily, he was an arrogant enough youth to manufacture the necessary confidence, to choose a task because it felt like the only right thing to do in a world that had otherwise never made sense. He felt the cold chill of someone utterly and completely alone, but he'd resolved himself to his task fully, and he could not afford to question himself again—right or wrong, fear could only secure him the worst of failures.

-((Line Break/New Addition))-

The luxury of the magisters was something Nikolai had never seen outside of the sanctum. Though he had little opportunity to experience the complex for himself, the very knowledge that his small room was an inner apartment of the magister's bedroom and that it was not so uncommon for a slave to get such a space that it would arouse suspicion struck Nikolai as generally odd. The room was hardly of note, of course, it was simply a day bed separated from a small window by a night table and the equivalent floor space. But for this space to be a subspace of her room, a space given to anyone or anything she considered a pet-it made the situation of the sixth district seem all the more appalling.

Nikolai forced these thoughts back. Any moment now, the magistrate would be collecting him. Despite having known the woman for years through letters and a strange variety of lessons, Nikolai had never really seen her. He'd always been too distracted, or had sand in his eyes, or she'd taken a random shape to better fit into his dreams. Now, knowing he was finally going to get both an honest amount of time and an actual chance to see her, he felt himself growing inexplicably nervous.

He almost jumped when his door finally opened. Though he should have expected it, he was equally surprised to see a small elf woman occupying the break of the door, rather than the magister. He got to his feet in silence and followed the equally silent and mousy elf passed the array of small apartments and towards the back of the bedroom. The elf stopped in front of a mass of black and purple curtains and nodded shortly before running back to her duties. Nikolai took in a deep breath before pushing himself through the uncertain mass of curtains.

Her room, in the strict sense, was as imposing as her room in the general sense. Heavy Tevinter archways made up the wide expanse of windows lining each wall but that of curtains. The metal twisted in and out, interrupting the flow of the moonlight and playing in patterns as though it had been crushed into dark and sinister shapes from the strain of the window frame arching piously towards the sky. Two frames, identical to these windows in nearly every way, functioned as doors, opening out to a large stone balcony that stood imposing and watchful over Minanthrous.

To the right of Nikolai was another mass of black lace and African violet satin, punctured by spear and thorn like designs of Tevinter metal-some sort of four poster bed, likely, with the curtains drawn to keep the entirety of the space clandestine. The room was dim, almost romantically dim, and the lack of torches left the entirety of the task to the subtle moonlight, washing through the twisted archways and open doors to light the cobalt stones within.

He walked slowly through the room, the bed on his right and an assortment of chairs of different types on his left. He took her absence to mean she should be on the balcony. It was starting to seem that, despite her assurances to the contrary, the magistrate had become accustomed to the life of the powerful-she had mastered the wonder of appearance, the value of making other take every step, look for you, and prove their interest time and again for a meeting of any level of importance. What could he do? He obliged the game.

Nikolai hardly noticed the regal silver boned black chaise she sat in. Similarly, he hardly noticed the folds of purple satin and African Violet crepe that came from her and folded over her in all directions, decadently arranged robes and marks of rank in one form or another. Rather than these things, Nikolai was stricken by her appearance-the beautiful mentor he'd hardly ever seen, and never been able to really take in.

Her ivory skin shimmered in the moonlight, barely more reflective than the lis shaped pendant hanging silver from within her elaborately braided hair. The braids, dark brown, hung loosely near her temples and went back within the soft silken tresses pressed delicately backwards into a large sequence of braids folded back inwards on themselves and holding, like a crown, from the base of her her head back up. There was no visible start or end and, instead, her hair had the appearance of an indivisible whole, perfectly framing her small, heart shaped face. Her eyes, though brown, reflected the moonlight as they shifted their gaze towards Nikolai, sparkling with the adventure of youth and playing in perfectly with each of her small, delicate features. She couldn't have been as old as her early twenties, despite her apparent success.

He made his way to her side, silent in awe, and he prepared himself to fall on his knees by her side despite the chair that sat off to a distance. He couldn't explain it, but his very heart seemed to ache for proximity as he appearance seemed to scream her name in a whisper Sophia

A compassionate smile came upon her dark lips and a lithe white hand reached out to pull him to sit next to her, rather than on the ground before her. His green eyes were trapped in hers as he made his slow way down, sitting on the edge of the long chair near her abdomen, looking into her eyes with wonder enough to suggest tears.

"Tomorrow," she began softly, in a rolling Tevinter voice "you go to a world long forgotten. The things you'll have to go through to get there-are you sure you want this, Niko? I wouldn't wish the methods we have on my worst enemy."

"I need to know the truth," Nikolai answered softly, a sad sort of smile coming to his lips at the pain it seemed to cause her.

She pursed her lips knowingly and nodded solemnly. "It will be painful, and I can't guarantee you'll be able to get there even despite our best efforts, but if you truly want nothing else than to step foot in the black city, and see if any truth remains, then I can think of no more beautiful sacrifice to aspire to."

He leaned in slowly, and ran a finger along the side of her chin, and he felt himself drawn almost incomprehensibly into a kiss. It didn't come. Instead, one of Sophia's soft fingers came against his lips "Not yet," she whispered "you aren't ready. But enough, my attendants will come for you," she announced, sad to end everything but glad to avoid further complications with the young boy. "If you're going to fit in with the magisters as a pet you'll need to look the part. Unless everything has changed since I was there last the artifacts should still be in the basement. Everything changes tomorrow, Niko."

"Everything is always changing," he clarified as he regretfully made his way from her side. "The only difference is that no one knows what tomorrow will change, and that the world might finally have hope again."  
**  
A/N: So, I chose to add this to this chapter because fits here better than the next one. Now, both as an agreement with one of you and because I'm usually really terrible at picking up on symbolism I've resolved to add an author's note on the symbols and meaning at the end of the text. If you aren't interested, or if you pick it up without needing the cheat sheet, you can ignore those notes, which I will label AN/S.**

AN/S: For those of you who haven't picked up on it yet, Sophia means wisdom (like, always). So, Nikolai is taught by wisdom, he is drawn to wisdom, he trusts wisdom against all the odds and he feels himself inexplicably drawn to embrace wisdom, but he is not yet ready. Especially given my current level of sentimentality, the next chapter is going to be hyper symbolic, more than I have ever written, so if you find these notes helpful, at least know that I will walk you through it at the end, and you can always reread things. I will probably also get into the levels of meaning in the new title in next chapter's notes.


	4. Noesis

**A/n: Alright, guys, as I've said, I'm terrible with symbolism. Nevertheless, I've decided to try it. Now, since much of this scene will be happening in the fade anyway, and the whole thing is very symbol heavy, I'm not going to concentrate on cannon as much as I usually do, but we'll be back to some awesome stuff including more familiar characters soon.**

**Also: I just did something super courageous and I'm feeling pretty "boss" right now, so be warned that this scene is going to be a massive ego trip of emotion, let's hope you all enjoy it as much as I think I will.**

-((Line Break))-

The attendant came, as expected, but if Nikolai hadn't kept his mind quite pliable to Sophia's will, he wouldn't have been able to get through the unusual series of steps that would eventually melt together and feel like one tremendously long day.

He was ushered through Sophia's large room and to a bathing area more reminiscent of a stone marvel built for an entire community than the place of one simple ritual. The dim light of the upper window offered only enough moon to bring Sophia into clarity. Her ivory skin reflected light like powder, and it was clear that she had lost her elaborate dress, she stood wearing the pendant, a skirt of crepe, and a bust that came out and ribboned her arms like ballet slippers to ankles. She stood with her arms out-stretched, working a magic of intuition and instinct that Nikolai could never have imagined.

It started simply enough. He was washed in the water of black roses, and a Tevinter oil smelling of cherry blossom and hemp was worked through his hair. He felt calm, unnaturally calm, and he felt as though he were breathing in forever, while he lay at the hands of the attendant women. The water drained away. The oil was worked into every inch of his bare flesh. He could hear and feel the razor blades cutting away at his hair. Every scuff mark, every indication of time, vanished from Nikolai's flesh in the process.

The oil was cleaned away, with neither water nor soap. _Alcohol_ Nikolai noticed, but he was too calmed by the commencement of the ritual and too trusting to let it be more than a passing thought. Sophia moved from the light, and came to stand on the edge at the centre of the large concrete pool that served as a tub, where Nikolai still lay.

"Do you trust me, young Nikolai?" her voice called out to him in that carrying whisper reserved for the Tevinter voice.

He looked up to her, and saw nothing but her saphire glow—the colour of Sebastian's eyes. His breathe hitched for a moment _what would he think—this is for __**everyone, **__Nikolai. _He smiled into the realization, there was no turning back, this was as final as a jump from the wall of the sanctum, and everything would decide itself after these last words "to the ends of the black city itself, bella Sophia."

He felt more than saw his own body lifting from the ground. Before long he was up near Sophia's chest level, with nothing to do but lay back and breathe. Oil was poured in a spiral on the tub below, and in moments, it ignited, forming a ring at the end, and slowly moving its way inward, closer.

"Have faith, Nikolai, that your magic will protect you here, that you may have faith that it will serve you in the fade."

He breathed, he focused. Healing, cold, it didn't matter. He let the magic rush of it's own volition with only one set of thoughts _Life, Truth, Meaning_. The fire spiralled closer and, once close enough, set the alcohol covering Nikolai's skin on fire. Fast, quick, rushing fire. _Life, Truth, Meaning_.

-((Line Break))-

The next day passed by as a stumbling dream. Nikolai was only vaguely aware of a party, vaguely aware of a dog, no, a glowing man and some kind of interference. Everything was a haze—until they entered the chamber.

Suddenly, the world was crisp. They stood in an old Tevinter temple, the fade seemed on the verge of breaking loose in all directions from mirrors, artifacts, old writings that seemed to bed to be read but remained incomprehensible. He made his way, unguided, to the centre of the chamber in the centre of a ring of mirrors _eluvian_ they seemed to chant.

His knees hit the hard stone floor, but he barely noticed. The mirrors shined with sapphire, dancing in the love of magic, it was time.

Sophia dropped the robes of pretence she'd been wearing for the feat upstairs. She dropped more and more pieces until simply modest layers and her pendant remained. A lyrium stone was put into place within. An attendant took a blade to each of her wrists, gashing hard up to her hands. She made her way, silent at the pain, to face Nikolai. An attendant knelt on either side of him and one behind, preparing their tools as quietly and precisely as they could—the tools of carving skin, and the tools of lyrium etching.

Sophia fell to her knees before Nikolai. He could have sworn her eyes were glowing sapphire. She brought bleeding hands to his temples, gazing entirely into his Tevinter eyes. The carving began, and so did the magic, and soon the rush of lyrium took over completely. Sophia leaned in, and kissed him deeply, blood running along their bodies to the stone below, magic taking over the entirely of the physical realm, all slowly draining towards the mirror. Then, like something from a dream, they all came to life at once, and the physical world fled in all directions from the oncoming fade, brilliant, and bright, magical—pure.

Sophia seemed to morph into an owl, taking off but guiding every step, there and absent at once. Nikolai would face this world alone, but not completely. The rush of lyrium pieced even into the fade itself, and soon a new world, a new place, was rushing forth.

The golden city, magestic and in all its intact glory seemed to form around him. The place of legends, the place of heroes. At the end of the hall, Andraste sat by the maker's side. Nikolai took a step, and then another, panic and sickness set in further with each step—they all rang hollow. The gold was nothing. Try as he could to deny it, reality set in, and the world began to crack.

Winter cherries, cypress, and marigold began to grow through the crack of the city floor, as if from nothing. Nikolai continued to approach the Maker, but he and Andraste twisted into a disfigured, black, wyvern. The city began to lose it's colour, everything was cast into darkness.

The sanctum was superimposed on this moment, Denerim, Vicount's Keep, Starkhaven Castle, The Tevinter Imperium and even Val Royeax itself. All of the greatest cities, and their greatest leaders: the archons, the princes, the lord chancellors, the knight commanders, the mothers and fathers—all swallowed up by and effusing from the wyvern, from the darkness. A figure like a golem came from nowhere, and crushed all the symbols beneath its feet. Then it, too, returned to dust.

Suddenly, Nikolai was a red fox, chasing a silver fox up a mountain of Laurels, through burning cypress, through marigold, into black poplar trees before jumping down into a new world.

The world turned Scarlet. Nikolai saw new leaders, champions, wardens, and a different kind of prince. He saw the nobility collapse, the circles fall, and the templars be thrust into chaos. And from these collapses, even as the leaders turned into ever present mist, sprang up large and imposing oak trees, brilliant with life. From these trees came cherry blossom trees, and the most beautiful white lilies, and the world seemed to change.

Coldness disappeared. The silver fox sat, content, before a counsel of others, all sorts of animals. The wyvern reappeared, changed- a red fox sat on one side, an owl flew above, and the world began to glow sapphire.

The rest of what happened could hardly be remembered in pictures. And through multitudes of truths, beauties, pains, lives and deaths, through eternity, some of what Nikolai managed to retain was this:

_Virtue is the pursuit of meaning. Beauty is in the chaos. Strength comes from necessity. Only two things can break truth from its prison: need and hope. Walk in the light of the truth, do not falter, do not waver, and the world will change before you._

The wyvern became Sebastian, the owl re-became Sophia, the witches of the wilds, the elven gods, the paragons, the champions and the heroes took their places. The silver fox bowed, and everything fell back to reality.

-((Line Break))-

**A/N Wohw, anyone else kind of tired and overloaded from all that? I'm gonna have a smoke, and then I'm gonna try to punch out an analysis on all of this for you guys and hope that, with all the info, you'll see why I'm feeling like this story is getting epic right now.**

**AN/S: This is not all in order, I'm just going to try to mention everything.**

**Nikolai is baptized by oil, and ambrosia, he pledged his undying faith and loyalty to wisdom, and then is baptized by fire (trial, battle, harshness, magic, life, etcetc). **

**The physical becomes less real than the spiritual. His own instinct and wisdom lead him through the mysteries of old Tevinter.**

**The golden city rings hallow, it was never real, it dissolves into the black city because that's all it was. It was a means of oppression, power, stubbornness and hate, it was a wyvern.**

**Wyvern: the wyvern is envy, war, pestilence, viciousness, and also nobility, strength, power, and endurance. It is a lot of great and terrible things, but it's been allowed to spiral out of control, to swallow up reality and beauty and effuse and survive on more war, more oppression, more hate.**

**The flowers at this level symbolize grief, despair, death, deception.**

**The scarlet symbolizes change.**

**Hemp (and the oil that smells like it) symbolizes fate; cherry blossoms and lilies symbolize beauty; live oaks symbolize liberty, mountain laurels symbolize ambition; black poplars symbolize courage**

**The silver fox symbolizes the benevolent creator.**

**The red fox symbolizes love, a wise and noble messenger, a trickster leading to demise, cunning, strategy, quick-thinking, adaptability, cleverness, wisdom, runs like an arrow straight to the target, passion, desire, intensity, expression, thinking outside the box, and ultimate resourcefulness, shape-shifting, right action, and determination**

**So now we have all these charged ideas. The Maker is likely not the true creator. The wyverns, (people like Sebastian) are dangerous when they act without the foxes, the diplomats, the emotional, (the people like Nikolai), and for the world to get better it has to change, it has to aim towards liberty and take every risk to be there because the world that will spring forth from whatever mess or ashes that come forth will be better than any of the hallow golden cities that are being left behind.**

**Thanks, let me know if there are any symbols that I just didn't explain, or if you're still hopelessly confused.**


	5. Run

**A/N: Alright now I really shouldn't be doing this and I'll probably have to go on a short haitus after, but I can't get these few scenes out of my head so here we go—I'm'ma try to rage (i.e. Go super fast) through these en masse, then get my homework done, then visit the new baby when it comes (one of my sisters is in labour for the last 6 hours and they estimate it'll be until evening). Superhero? I'll try to be, because or else I'm totally screwed.**

**A/N2: No, the lyrium ritual preformed on Nikolai does not make him a lyrium ghost. Different ritual, and no where near enough overall lyrium coverage.**

**A/N3: I'm not sure yet if I'm only uploading this shorty or the accompanying parts today, but this seemed like the right place to end this chapter so, we shall see.**

The fade images crumbled to pieces, the lyrium and sapphire blues drained away, and reality clattered gracelessly back into the fore. It was gray, dismal and ugly compared to the reverberating rich and ever perfect colours of the fade. Sophia was still pulling away from the kiss that pushed the vision, but there was panic in her eyes.

"Nikolai, come-on;" her voice had sounded foggy, but it was starting to make sense again "Nikolai, we have to run, **now**."

_We_. The words sounded strange. Wasn't Sophia supposed to stay behind, be a magister, unlock every secret of the fade beyond even the secret that the golden city had always been hallow? _Forget it, there isn't time. Ask questions later. _His attention was pulled wholly to her lightly pleading eyes, to her frantic glances back toward the doorway, to the knowledge the servants had moved from their places around him—from cutting him and injecting him with lyrium. He forced himself to his feet, dizzy from bloodloss, from his trip in the fade, from the lyrium now pooled within markings on his wrists nd along his back, moving with foreign zeal.

"I'm ready," he half lied. It seemed his voice had gotten the hint of his growing up all at once, it seemed to have fallen octaves within his brief time in the other realm. "Let's go."

Sophia pulled one of her servants close and looked into his eyes, sure to get his full attention. "Act like you tried to stop us, but like you aren't sure who we were. That should give you enough time to get back to the compound, pack, and get yourself and many many of the others out before they realize I'm involved. Go, tell everyone that you've all been set free, and then run as fast as you can away from this place."

The moment this ignoble liberation speech was over with Sophia and Nikolai took off, forcing their way through the cracks in the walls of this quazi-temple and running with full speed into Tevinter's underbelly.

-((Line Break))-

"If I ever become Sovereign ruler of the known world, I'm outlawing sand." Nikolai let out in a forced jovial tone after a long interval of silence. They'd managed their way out of the capital and were pushing through abandoned tunnels to escape Tevinter proper. Unfortunately, now that they'd pushed their way out and were making their way to the silent plains they found themselves, adrenaline waning, wading through hip deep sand. The whole ordeal had begun to seem absolutely ridiculous, the pair became giggly in sheer frustration.

"If I become sovereign ruler of Thedas," Sophia picked up the half-game-half-complaint in her sweet and almost ornamental voice, "I'm giving Tevinter over to the Nevarrans. I tried to fix it from the inside, but I think they're the only ones who can save it now."

Nikolai stopped short and it took several moments for him to even be able to force his feet forward again after the comment. "Naw, no, Nevarrans couldn't help. They're so absolutely in love with the Chantry that their blind faith would make their military prowess just another poison for Tevinter."

"So, you've decided they're all wrong, then?"

"I—well it sounds pretty arrogant doesn't it. But—I don't think the golden city was ever anything else, and teaching people to hate each other more won't fix anything."

"And so—what will the book be according to brother Nikolai?" she wasn't mocking him, though it did sound like she was.

"I'm not really sure yet. But the Templars, the Chantry, the Mages—none of them should be in direct government really. What Tevinter needs, what the world needs, is something entirely new."

"You sound like you have a plan."

"No, nothing so concrete, really, unfortunately. Just—a dream. A dream about intellect and purity of heart taking over a world of stubbornness and hate, of hallow purities like who you can sleep with or a need to be self-righteous and better than everyone else. Only time can make a dream a plan."

They stood on silence for some time, thinking on it. Had Nikolai predicted something, or did he just _want_ this new, imagined, world.

"We should move on," Sophia pressed eventually. "We can't sleep here or we'll drown in sand so—no option but forward now."

And there was no option but forward. In more ways than one.


End file.
